Photo by Lili Popper
The winter moon was rising. No babies tonight, so I volunteered to go home. I called security to walk me to my car. Just beyond the parking lot, food stamps were being traded for something to make the pain of living recede. Gunshots often echoed outside the walls of the labor wing. I was an OB nurse, in the midst of a system that often created birth violence, working with bold midwives to protect birth.